A Place of Honor
by Thargelion
Summary: King Elessar is asked many times why the seat to his right is always empty at every meal. When his Steward asks, he answers. Aragorn and Faramir remember their fallen friend, Boromir.


**Boromir oneshot for you all, for the anniversary of Boromir's death, as I'm just about the biggest Boromir fan ever.**

**King Elessar is asked many times why the seat to his right is always empty at every meal. When his Steward asks, he answers. Aragorn and Faramir remember their fallen friend. **

* * *

It was to be a lovely feast. A tablecloth as white as a snowy sky was spread over the high table. Tall wine-goblets were at every seat, and fine, painted plates. In the kitchens, soup was being stirred, and meat was being cut. Casks of fine wine were brought out of the cellars. Nevertheless, King Elessar had a problem with the arrangement.

"You have forgotten a seat," he said. He was not angry in the slightest- after all, the cooks and the servants had no way of knowing the importance of the seat he was asking for. "I will need you to move one plate from this table to the lower table."

The servant girl he was addressing turned white with fear. "Oh, beg your pardon, King Elessar," she said, curtsying so low her knees nearly touched the ground. "I am terribly sorry. But... we counted the guests and those who live here that are invited, and that is how many seats we put out." She looked scared witless, and Aragorn felt a rush of pity for her. He had tried his best not to sound upset, but the feast was less than an hour off, and he was quite anxious.

"It is no fault of yours, or anyone's," he reassured her. "You did exactly as you should have- counted all those who would be present. But, I do have a tradition... there must always be one extra seat." He saw_ his_ face, for a second, in his head. He that the seat was for, that should be sitting in the seat, if not for a terrible twist of fate.

"Where, then?" asked the girl, already backing up to go get silverware and dishes for the extra seat. "The lowest-ranking seat, I presume?"

Aragorn felt like quite a picky person, but he said, "Actually, you are furthest from correct. The extra seat shall be to my right."

The girl's eyes widened. "But that is the highest place of honor! An empty seat,_ there_?"

"It is tradition," Aragorn said firmly. "You would do best to hurry." The girl bowed once more and scurried off.

The King pulled up an empty seat that was not his and collapsed down in it, probing his throbbing temples and closing his eyes. He'd had an awful headache since that morning, and it was not relenting- if anything, it was worsening. He was not in the mood to give a long, tedious speech. Aragorn just wanted to sit in his chambers and think to himself.

Soft footsteps pattered across the stone toward Aragorn, and he opened his eyes with great effort. He forced a pleasant look on his face when he saw Faramir.

"How do you fare, Aragorn?" asked the Steward, concern in his voice. "You look unwell."

"It is naught," the King found himself saying. He shook his head. "No, it is something of importance... just not to many people. The servants forgot one seat." Oh, how his heart ached, now, too! Faramir would, no doubt, be distraught if he knew what the seat was for.

Faramir nearly smiled, but the grave look on Aragorn's face stopped the smile from reaching his eyes. His face gave way to a frown. "An extra seat? What for, may I ask?"

Aragorn's headache seemed to get even worse. "It is a tradition of mine. I can assure you, it is of great importance to me, and to you. I shall tell you after the feast." He knew Faramir would be distracted and saddened during the entire festivities if he revealed the reason for the extra seat.

Faramir nodded, his face slightly confused. "I shall meet you in the gardens afterward then," he said. "Good day, Aragorn." Faramir was one of the only people that could get away with calling King Elessar 'Aragorn'. The only others who called him any other names were the Halflings, and they still occasionally called him 'Strider'!

"Good day," he repeated.

* * *

And indeed, it was a marvelous day. The guests were solemn during the King's speech, but chuckled during the feast, talking to friends new and old alike. It was a lovely feast, too. Aragorn's headache lessened a bit with his consumption of food, and he talked cheerfully and soberly both.

All the while, he had been asked about the empty seat. Some people said the servants must have made a mistake. Others said that no one who missed such a lovely feast should have that place of honor, right at the side of the King himself. Some told Aragorn that it was a waste of silverware, dishes, and food.

Aragorn thought about what he had said to them, after he was too offended to conceal his words. _"The seat is a tradition. It is for someone who should be here- and you say that they do not deserve the honor of their seat, since they did not attend the feast? They physically cannot attend. The person whose seat this should be is no longer in this world." _

In his mind, he could almost hear the hearty laugh of the person who should have been sitting there. Aragorn couldn't imagine what the person would say if they could see the feast, and their rightful seat. He hadn't known them long enough to figure out his ways, nor nearly long enough as he wished he could have.

The King waited in the gardens for his Steward. Faramir had clearly been enjoying himself, but he seemed a bit distracted at times. Aragorn, who was learned in the art of reading people's emotions, knew he must be trying to figure out what the seat was for. Faramir had not heard his defense of the seat's rightful owner, so it was natural for him to be confused.

Quiet Ranger-footsteps moved across the pathways in the gardens as Faramir neared the King. "My King," he said, bowing. "What is it you would like to speak with me about?"

Aragorn supposed his face looked troubled. He didn't want to worry Faramir, but nothing was going to be able to lessen the impact of what he was going to say.

"Faramir," he said, "the seat is for someone we both knew." Something inside him told Aragorn not to just state the person's name. That would be like dropping the weight of the world onto poor Faramir's shoulders. "Someone I should have known better. Someone you knew better than anyone else in this good world. Someone who never got to see his city in its full glory, not dimmed by the Shadow of Mordor."

The Steward's eyes widened, and his face was awash with grief. Faramir had realized who Aragorn spoke of. He suddenly bowed his head, and for a minute, all was silent as he took a respectful moment of remembrance. "I keep forgetting," he murmured, "that you knew him too..."

"Not as much as I wished to," Aragorn said quietly. Faramir's face had gone deathly pale, so he added, "Here, take a seat." He practically guided his Steward to sit down on a carved stone bench.

"It is for Boromir," said King Elessar gently. "The place would have been his, had he lived to see these golden days." Faramir took in a breath loudly and a bit shakily.

"He should have been here," Faramir said. "How I wish he could see all of this." He put a hand over his eyes as if he was afraid that he might weep.

Aragorn sat beside him, concerned. "I did not intend to grieve you," he said.

"I know," Faramir said quietly, dashing away the tears in his eyes. "The grief is quite unintentional. It can be brought on by so many things..."

The King knew that. Occasionally, grief would catch him by surprise. The other day, he had been walking the streets of Minas Tirith, and he came upon a father sitting with his children, telling them tales of Gondor long ago. Aragorn had had to walk quickly back to his chambers, for he had been reminded of Boromir then, and how he sat with the hobbits and humored them throughout their journey. Aragorn had sat in his chambers quietly after that, remembering, occasionally with the sparkle of tears in his eyes.

"The other day, I heard someone talking about the Ring," Faramir said, as if the words needed to be told to take weight off his shoulders. "I joined in the conversation, to be polite. The people recognized me as... as Boromir's brother, and they laughed." Faramir's voice was quiet and tense. Aragorn recognized this to be Faramir's angry tone of voice. The Steward never was one to shout or raise his voice when he was upset. Instead, his voice was low and dangerous. "They laughed, and called the Ring 'Boromir's Bane'."

Aragorn wished he could say that Faramir was lying, but he had heard the Ring called that many times. He heard Boromir's panicked voice in his mind: "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. I am sorry. I have paid."

"They do not remember him," Faramir continued. "Well, they do, but not in a good way. They hear the Ringbearer's tale of Boromir's fall and they call him corrupted and weak. I know I shamed myself by what I said, but I told them..." Faramir hung his head. "...something I cannot say in the presence of the King." The King in question felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Faramir was everlastingly loyal to his brother, even though his sibling was no longer alive to witness it.

"Boromir's Bane indeed," Aragorn said thoughtfully. "Yes, it was his bane, but the people are mistaken. Boromir was not weak- he was the most loyal person I have ever known. He merely desired to save Gondor. And that is why I have a seat for him beside me at every feast, banquet, or simple meal." He smiled sadly at Faramir. "Let us not remember him as they do. We shall remember him well."

There was a short silence, broken by a quiet sniff from Faramir. Aragorn dared not speak. He knew not of the thoughts going through Faramir's grief-stricken mind, but he was not surprised when he heard a muffled sob.

"Forgive me, my King," Faramir's voice said, his usually firm voice wavering. King Elessar turned so he could better see Faramir's face. The Steward's eyes were overfilling with tears that he was valiantly trying not to shed.

The King felt more than a little guilty. "There is naught for me to forgive, Faramir," he said gently. "I only must tell you that you do not have to hide your tears."

Faramir gave a choked sob and the tears flowed freely down his face faster than a stream on, of course, a smaller scale. "I imagine if- if he was here," Faramir said, "he would tell me, 'Weeping is only weak when it is in front of those you would not shed a tear for'. He always told me that."

"Quite a wise statement," Aragorn mused. He searched in his pockets for a handkerchief, and, finding one, handed it to his Steward. "He seemed to me a very wise, loyal man."

Faramir nodded, a slight smile on his lips as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Then you knew him better than most others he fought beside," he said. "Though perhaps you did not know it -having not known him before your quest and Fellowship- he was quite grim among his fellow soldiers, especially when he did not know them well. When he did, you would know."

"Aye," Aragorn said. "It was a bit of an eye-opener to see him laughing and talking with the others in our company." _But I never saw that pleasant side of him enough, _Aragorn thought to himself. _Only when he was not close to the Ring did he ever laugh. And soon he turned quiet, despairing, and brooding, his thoughts consumed by the Ring, though I did not know it at the time._

The Steward's gaze turned toward his King. "Sometimes I think of what he would tell me," Faramir said. "When I sit in a council, I can almost hear his voice saying, 'If you need a council to understand something, you must be a very stupid person indeed'." Not expecting that, Aragorn laughed, and instantly felt guilty for doing so.

"I apologize, Faramir," he said, cutting off his chuckling. "How impolite I must seem."

"I do not find it so," the Steward said. "And I am sure Boromir would not find it so either." Faramir sighed quietly, swiping the last of his tears off his face. "But we digress."

"Indeed," Aragorn said. "Is your question answered, Faramir?"

"It is," said Faramir. "Thank you, Aragorn."

As the King and his Steward went their different ways out the garden, Aragorn smiled to himself as he pictured the day's feast differently, picturing Boromir sitting by his side with a broad smile on his face, smiling eyes, and the Shadow lifted from above him.


End file.
